The Charm Offensive(33)
Maybe Dev should go into his room. Check on him. Talk to him.
Next door, he hears Charlie go into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
Or… yeah, Dev should probably just go to sleep instead.
He doesn’t sleep, though, and when he goes into the kitchen the next morning feeling half-dead, Jules is already there with a bag of breakfast sandwiches from crafty. Charlie is shoving a load of clothes into the washing machine.
“The assistants can do your laundry for you,” Dev says as he comes up behind him.
Charlie nearly jumps out of his skin. “It’s fine. I… I can—” He cuts off and doesn’t bother trying to resuscitate the sentence.
Jules hands Charlie his breakfast. “Charlie, you look like you’re auditioning to be the thirteenth Cylon on Battlestar Galactica,” she teases.
Charlie blinks. “Sorry.”
Apparently Dev pushed so hard he shoved Charlie all the way back to night-one awkwardness.
Jules and Dev try to draw him out of his shell on the drive to set, but he refuses to be baited, even when Dev loudly declares Westworld the greatest science-fiction show of all time. At set, when Dev reaches to adjust Charlie’s crown, Charlie pulls away so violently, he trips backward over an equipment crate. He’s jittery with the women, too, confusing the Laurens and overtly rolling his eyes when Megan pulls him aside to tell him Daphne isn’t here for the right reasons.
“What the hell is wrong with your boy?” Jules asks as they watch Charlie literally duck out of an oncoming kiss from Delilah.
“I have no idea.”
Jules puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head up at him.
“Okay, well, maybe Charlie came into my room late last night.…”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Charlie came into my room, and we talked about his connections with the women.”
“Oh.”
“What did you think I meant?”
She assumes a casual position. “That. Obviously.”
“I was trying to help him realize his feelings for Daphne, and—”
Jules cackles. “Wait. You’re serious? You actually think Charlie has feelings for Daphne?”
“Yeah. Why?” He chews on his thumbnail. “Do you think Angie is a better fit for him?”
Jules sighs and reaches over to scratch his arm. “Sure, Dev. That’s what I think.”
* * *
Every season, at the end of week three, before they winnow the contestants down to ten and winnow the crew down to essential personnel for the travel portion of the show, they always host a gigantic “ball” before the Crowning Ceremony. Twelve women competing to dance with one man. It’s always a shitshow.
When the town car pulls up to the Peninsula Beverly Hills, Charlie is a bundle of nerves, which means Dev is a bundle of nerves, though his anxiety is at least in part caused by the Sour Patch Kids and nitro coffee he had for dinner. While Charlie is whisked away into hair and makeup, Dev distracts himself from his restless worrying about Charlie by checking on the women. They’re gathered together in a conference room that’s been converted into a dressing space. They’re all strapped into Disney-inspired ball gowns with cinched waists and tulle skirts.
He finds Angie, Daphne, and Sabrina huddled in the corner surrounded by a surplus of fabric and In-N-Out drive-thru bags smuggled in by Kennedy, the handler who replaced him. They’ve all got napkins shoved down the front of their dresses like bibs. It’s charmingly adorable.
Charlie’s already decided which two women he’s sending home tonight, so in addition to these three women, it’s Delilah, Lauren L., Becca, Whitney, Rachel, Jasmine, and Megan—whom Maureen insists on keeping for a few more weeks—who will be flying on to New Orleans with them tomorrow.
“Well, if it isn’t our future husband’s keeper.” Angie raises an animal-style burger at him in greeting. “How’s our boyfriend doing?”
“He’s…” Dev pulls a Charlie and doesn’t bother finishing that sentence.
Daphne also pulls a Charlie and furrows her brow intensely. “He’s seemed upset about something all week. Is there anything we can do to help?”
He shakes his head. If Dev knew how to help get Charlie back to where they were before, he would’ve done it already.
“Hey, Daphne, I was wondering,” Megan says as she stomps over in a dress clearly inspired by Maleficent. The wardrobe department is not subtle. “Are you going to ask Charlie to dance at the ball, or are you hoping Angie asks you instead?”
Daphne turns the same color pink as her Sleeping Beauty gown, and Angie throws a French fry at Megan. “Fuck off, you homophobic twat.”
Megan wheels around to Dev. “Did you hear what she just said to me?”
Dev points to his ear, like someone is shouting in his headset, so he doesn’t have to openly acknowledge her casual homophobia. Then someone actually is shouting in his headset. It’s Ryan. “Dev, get over here. We have a problem.”
As out of shape as he is, it only takes thirty seconds for him to sprint across the hotel to Charlie’s wardrobe room. Still, in those thirty seconds, Dev imagines dozens of horrible scenarios involving Charlie. What he finds is worse than anything he could’ve envisioned.